Funeral blues
by nonpiu
Summary: A mysterious note appears next to Mark’s letter on the ER bulletin board. More secretes are revealed since it’s Christmas time and the ER staff is occupied with secret Santa’s presents. Abby’s knowledge manages to baffle yet another doctor


Summary: A mysterious note appears next to Mark's letter on the ER bulletin board. More secretes are revealed since it's Christmas time and the ER staff is occupied with secret Santa's presents. Abby's knowledge manages to baffle yet another doctor.  
  
Ratings: G  
  
Spoilers: None.  
  
A/N: For a sort of disclaimer see the end of the story. Which reminds me that I do not own any of the ER characters but you already know that. Last but not least, I need feedback! Enjoy!  
-Funeral blues-  
  
by Elisa  
  
Kerry hit the enter button on the keyboard of the computer by the admin desk with a small exclamation of satisfaction. With a loud, monotone buzz a sheet came out of the printer and she snatched it away quickly. She crutched her way to the bulletin board, to tape that note on it to remind the staff of the new policies she issued every other week, much to her coworkers' dismay, but that she considered only as one of her duty as well as an essential mean to run her ER efficiently. She dodged slickly a makeshift ball made of balled up gauzes that Malik and Gallant were using in an improvised match of hockey with IV poles as clubs.  
"Watch it, Malik! And don't you two have something more productive to do, huh?"  
  
The nurse mumbled some kind of reply but Kerry could not hear it because of Gallant's cry of joy. The med student had apparently just scored. Kerry just shrugged. It was a slow morning after all and that was what happened when her employees got temporarily jobless. Had she been on call longer that scene would have never happened, but she had just gotten on so the ER was still a shambles. They all complained of her Nazi methods but then when she was not on nothing seemed to work. Kerry took out a couple of pins from the board to use them to attach her memo, but, as she did so, she accidentally made another sheet of paper fall down twirling to the ground. It had come off form a spot next an older note, a fax, which had been taped on the board for months, but no one, not even her, Kerry, who was a maniac with her endless announcements to the staff that covered almost every inch of the board, had wanted or dared to take it off. It was a letter by Mark Greene, the deceased attending physician, the last words to the ER from one of its own. Kerry eyed it sadly and bent down to pick the other note up. She recognized the handwriting immediately. She had seen that elegant and unmistakably feminine, old-fashioned, italic calligraphy very little Americans used on many prescriptions and charts. She then understood why the message had been taped next to Mark's. It read, in fact:  
  
Stop all the clock, cut off the telephone Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone Silence the pianos and with muffled rum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.  
  
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling in the sky the message He Is Dead, Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.  
  
He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.  
  
The stars are not wanted now; put on every one; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. For nothing now can ever come to any good.  
  
Kerry blinked her eyes and found out with great surprise they were humid. She shook herself quickly. Being weepy and emotional was not like her, or at least not something her stern, matter-of-fact and business-like persona would do. Kerry Weaver the woman, not the Chief of Emergency Services, whose sympathetic and sensitive side quite a few people in the ER had had the chance to see, caringly taped the poem back on the board next to Mark's letter and crutched away. She was back her brusque self when she said to the people gathered around the admin desk " Please everyone note that the new policies are up on the bulletin board."  
  
Luka scratched the back of his head and asked to Susan, who was there as well, finishing up a chart "Didn't she pass around the new ones last week already?"  
"Luka," Susan smiled and looked up, "We're talking about Kerry Weaver here. My guess is that she suffers from a bad case of insomnia and makes this stuff up at night when she can't sleep. You know, just to while away time."  
"Couldn't she just count sheep like everyone else?"  
  
Susan just shrugged. She had consciously decided to stop wondering at that great mystery that Kerry Weaver was long before. Luka decided that he could as well stop and check the board on his way to Curtain Area Three. So he did and quickly read the memo, which was just Kerry's usual bunch of nitpicky, boring rules. Exactly what you would expect form Weaver. Something else caught his eye, though. It was the poem next to Greene's letter. He had never noticed that before. Not that he ever paid much attention to the bulletin board and to what was written on it, like the 'Employee of the month' and such. He would never be made one so he never looked. Luka read avidly the poem and was struck by how those words rang true. It was not a bunch of cliché and halfhearted truisms about grief: evidently the poet knew what he was talking about for real. And so did Luka. He had not been able to put down in words his infinite sorrow when his wife Danijela had died, though. Corday had chosen a beautiful piece of poetry, Luka thought as he headed to Curtain Area Three. Or maybe she had even written that herself, in which case she really had a superb penmanship. He spotted Susan looking at a x-ray on a light-board in the hallway so, on a whim, he stopped and asked " Susan, do you know who wrote that beautiful poem taped on the bulletin board? I'm afraid American literature is beyond my knowledge."  
"What poem?" she frowned "I never saw one."  
  
"It's on the board, between Kerry's memo and Greene's letter. I think that Corday put it there. Well, read it and see for yourself. But do tell me if you know who it is by."  
Susan watched Luka Disappear inside Curtain Three with a well-trained brow raised quizzically. She put the x-ray into its manila envelope and headed curiously to the bulletin board. There it was, just like Luka had said, a poem next to Mark's goodbye letter. She read it and like it very much right away. It was wonderful. Whether Corday had written it herself or simply copied it down, it had been a terrific choice. Susan envied her a bit for this, as well. She secretly thought it really unfair that the British surgeon only was allowed to show in public her grief. Susan knew she had every right to, she was Mark's widow, but she thought she had loved Mark as much, if not even more she suspected, than the red-haired doctor. Though no one was there for her when she would miss her best friend so much that she literally burst into tears. But then she had left for Phoenix so she could not make any claim. She should have stayed in Chicago and maybe she could have enjoyed what was left to Mark to live with him, instead of Corday, however short that time was. She took a last long look at both the poem and Mark's letter and then went back to her work. As she passed by Curtain Three she stopped, though. She popped her head inside and said "Uh, Dr. Kovac? Sorry to interrupt you but I won't be long." She hoped she was sounding professional enough, although she felt a bit stupid "I, uhm, read that thing you told me to and no, I do not know what you asked me, sorry."  
  
She was leaving when Carter stopped her. "What is that our bright Dr. Lewis doesn't know? I'd be glad to help. What patient is this about?"  
  
Susan smiled "No, this is not about medicine."  
  
He frowned. "You sounded pretty medical to me."  
  
"I had to. Luka is with a patient."  
  
"What is it then? Now you gotta tell me because I'm all worked-up."  
  
"Well, maybe that superior education you got in that fancy private schools of yours could come in handy. You read the poem on the bulletin board?" Carter shook his head "I thought so. Come with me."  
  
She walked him to the board and showed him the note. Carter read it. He looked up and said "Cool. Who wrote it?"  
  
"That's the question. Luka and I think Elizabeth put it up. Do you think she could have written it herself?"  
  
"Maybe. If she didn't I don't know the poet, though. I mean, I did study English literature at school but I was never much into poetry. Always liked drama and theater better."  
  
"I know." Susan smiled mischievously. "I saw one of your performances, remember? Hope it wasn't the best you can do, because Luka's Croatian Hamlet made you look like crap."  
  
Carter pretended to be offended "Don't let the sexy accent and the foreign language fool you, Susan. It's all show and no substance."  
  
"If you say so." She replied, clearly skeptical.  
  
"Well, gotta go. But do call me if you have any real problem, something medical maybe."  
  
As he walked quickly away Susan called out teasingly "Dream on! I don't need any help in that field, Carter! You've still got miles to go before you're worthy to lick my boots, medically speaking!"  
  
He shrugged, this time it was his turn to be skeptical. Abby approached him and quipped. "Susan's absolutely right, you know."  
"What?" he frowned, "But you don't even know what we were talking about!"  
  
"Doesn't matter, Carter." She said, as they reached the drug lockup and started looking around for Compazine, "Girls are always right because men are just pigs."  
  
"Whatever, Abby. I'm not having this conversation with you." Then he smiled smugly "Here, this pig has just found you your Compazine!"  
  
"No wonder." She smiled and replied sarcastically "I've always known animals have a very good nose. Thanks a lot anyway, Carter."  
  
Carter looked baffled. As they walked out of the drug lockup and into the hallway he commented pensively "Why is that you always got to have the last word, huh?"  
  
"Because I'm a woman, Carter."  
  
"As if I haven't spotted that." He mumbled.  
  
"I heard you!"  
  
"So, since to day you act like you're the smartest human being on earth, why don't you take a look at this," he said challengingly as he pushed her towards the bulletin board "And you tell me who wrote this, huh?" he pointed provocatively at the poem.  
  
Abby read it and stayed silent for a few moments. Then she asked "Who put this here?"  
"Corday, I think."  
  
"Should have known it."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"He's British."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"W. H. Auden."  
  
"And who would that be?"  
  
"The poet who wrote this, Carter, who would you think I was talking about?"  
"You know him?" Carter asked, unable to mask his wonder mixed to disappointment.  
  
"Of course, I do, Carter. You might not like to remember it, but I am an English lit major. This is 'Funeral Blues' by W. H. Auden. He's and English poet, who died in the seventies I think, but he lived in the States long and spent a lot of time in Ischia, an isle off Naples, as well."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"I am the smartest girl around, Carter." She concluded with a self- satisfied smile and turned one's heel to walk away.  
  
Carter ran up to her. She was talking to Malik "Thanks, I owe you one, Malik. I won't take long, though, I'll be back in half an hour at the latest."  
Carter frowned and grabbed her arm as she was exiting the ER. "Where are you going? You're on for another three hours."  
  
"I know, Carter, but Malik's just gotten off and will cover for me for a little while. Gotta go to the shops."  
  
"To the shops?"  
  
"Yes. There are just only six shopping days left to Christmas, Carter!"  
  
As she had promised to Malik, Abby was back about twenty minutes later, holding a plastic bag containing a gift parcel. Carter snatched it from her. Abby, looking irritated, snatched it back.  
  
"Oh, come on!" he whined childishly "Can I take a look?"  
  
"No. It's not for you."  
  
"Exactly! If it's not mine I can take a peek at it!"  
  
"It's already gift-wrapped, Carter. So don't fuss, you act like a three- year-old."  
  
"You would like not to show your age like me! So, who is it for?"  
  
"My ER secret Santa."  
  
"Ah. Mine's Haleh. I was thinking of getting her a silken scarf or maybe a scowl. So, who's yours?"  
  
"I'm not telling you. Otherwise what's the whole point of secret Santa? Could even be you."  
  
"Ah-ha! It is for me then!" he exclaimed triumphantly.  
  
"No, I already told you it's not. And now get lost, Carter. Gotta put my jacket and purse away so that Malik can go home. He's been kind and patient enough already."  
  
Carter sulked away and Abby entered the lounge to put her stuff away in her locker. Sitting on the couch, doing charts on the low table, was Dr. Elizabeth Corday.  
"Hullo!" she greeted the nurse cheerfully.  
  
"Oh, Dr. Corday! I thought you went home already."  
  
Elizabeth nodded and took up the pile of charts. "Should have, I got off half an hour ago but I had to finish up some paperwork. Romano's breathing down my neck. But now I'm done with this and I'm officially out of here. Can't wait to get back home to Ella."  
Abby closed her lock and motioned towards the doctor, still holding the bag with the gift. She swung it in front of Elizabeth and said "Dr. Corday, this is for you."  
"What?"  
  
"You're my secret Santa."  
  
"Oh. Thank you, Abby. Weaver's mine. That's so ironic, isn't it? I haven't got her anything yet, though. I don't have the slightest idea of what to get her. You think she would get the message if I gave her a jar of honey? She could use a bit of sweetening in my opinion."  
  
Abby let out a small chuckle. She liked Elizabeth. The doctor was very funny in that British way of hers. Abby gave her the bag with the gift. Elizabeth took it and thanked her again.  
  
"Good grief! You were quick Abby! I mean, there's still a week to go before Christmas." She said as she took the present out of the bag.  
  
"I know, it's just that I heard you're going back to England for Christmas and I didn't know when you're leaving so. better safe than sorry."  
"That's right. Well, I guess I could open it now, since I'm not going to be here at Christmas. I'm really curious to see what you got me. I've always loved surprises, you know. Maybe that's why I got into surgery, who knows. You'd never guess what you can find when you open up a man. And the gut's so stretchy that it can- what is it?" Elizabeth exclaimed as she took off the wrapping of the gift, revealing a book inside.  
  
She turned it over in her hands, it was a collection of poems by W. H. Auden. She lit up as soon as she saw the name of the author and exclaimed "Auden! It's my favorite poet! It's wonderful, thanks! How did you know it, Abby?"  
  
"I saw 'Funeral blues' on the bulletin board. It's one of my favorite poems as well."  
  
"Oh. I didn't think Auden was so popular among Americans either."  
  
"It's not." Abby smiled. "I majored in English literature at Penn State, you know."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"I know, a nurse with a major in English lit is not that common."  
  
"I didn't mean to sound that surprised, Abby. I really think you're more than capable of studying any subject not only lit-"  
  
"Don't worry, Dr. Corday, I get that a lot. Lewis looked at me like I was some kind of an alien only because I quoted 'I sing the body electric' by Walt Whitman."  
  
"Too bad for her. Take myself, for example. I learned not to take anything for granted long ago. Who would have ever thought that Romano's actually a heart? But then I operated on him and the EKG was loud and clear. No mistakes. Although he might not act like it, his heart works just fine like in the rest of us."  
  
Abby chuckled. "Oh yeah, Dr. Corday, but I can assure you that you're not the only one who has problems figuring Romano out, really. He's not an ordinary man."  
As she put the book by Auden in her purse, Elizabeth said "You can say that out loud, Abby. Despite my working with him for four years now, I still get up in the morning wondering what stunt he will pull today. I learnt how to take him, but I can't figure out for the life of me his next move yet. Not to mention he's got this amazing knack for ticking me off all the time, not matter how many times I tell myself not to lose it this time."  
Abby nodded vigorously and, as she walked the doctor to the doors of the ambulance bay since she was going back home, said "To quote our favorite poet here 'I'm getting on for thirty-five, and I still do not know what kind of creature it can be that bothers people so'."  
  
"Very appropriate." Elizabeth chuckled.  
Fine  
A/N: I do not own any of the words by W. H. Auden, whose beautiful poetry I've discovered only recently. The final quote that Abby uses about Romano, is, in reality, referred to love and comes from an Auden's poem entitled 'O tell me the truth about love'. Read it, it's wonderful! 


End file.
